Sudden Impact
by MG12CSI16
Summary: His homecoming is not exactly what he expects it to be. AU to The Empty Hearse.


This was supposed to be light and sort of funny but whadaya know it turns into a big ball of angst near the end. Honestly I don't even know why I'm surprised but the end is fluffy so I guess. Anyways, this is another AU scene of The Empty Hearse based partly on Disney's Tangled and partly on the scene with Mrs. Hudson and her frying pan.

I think you already know where this is going.

Also, the title is really lame but my creativity level was at zero today.

I don't own Sherlock or Tangled.

* * *

**Sudden Impact**

He knows his first stop is going to be her flat.

It was an eminent fact the moment he stepped off the plane and Mycroft's men had swarmed him, dragging his battered body through the large halls until they reach the office closed off from the rest of the house.

In fact they're the first words out of his mouth.

"I need to pay a visit to Doctor Hooper."

Mycroft simply blinks in surprise, and then nods.

"Very well. But first, you need to get yourself cleaned up."

He is ready to protest, the sudden urgency he feels welling up inside of him almost unbearable until he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror behind his brother's head. He grimaces and gives a nod of his own.

He didn't need Molly to see him like this once again.

"Do make it quick though," he requests and when Mycroft rolls his eyes Sherlock knows things are alright for now.

* * *

He's clean shaven and freshly dressed with his coat billowing behind him as he marches through the house, once again resembling the man who left the city nearly two years ago. This time he smiles at himself in the mirror, obviously pleased, before turning to his brother who nods in approval.

"Much better," he muses. Sherlock resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"If you're no longer requiring my presence then I'll be off. I have an errand to run."

Mycroft smirks and leans against his desk as he watches his younger brother turn the collar of the coat up and sweep out of the room without another word. He shares a knowing look with Anthea, who just shakes her head in amusement.

"How long do you think it's going to take him to realize?"

With a heavy sigh Mycroft shrugged his shoulders and sat down behind his desk.

"If the past is any indication of the future, my dear, it could take a lifetime."

* * *

He hasn't seen in her in nearly four months, the last time he was in her flat he had escaped in the cover of night, not wanting to wake her for the fear of the peculiar feeling that clutched at his stomach whenever he looked at her.

For the last two years she had been the one to hide him away in her flat, stitch his wounds and assure him time and time again that things would turn out alright and he couldn't ignore the fact that something between them had changed. Although what it was exactly was still lost on Sherlock.

All he knew was that there was now a newly occupied room in his mind palace that never ceased to stop expanding. The door and the walls carved from memories and words that wouldn't leave.

Shaking off the chills that creep up his spine as he climbs the stairs of the fire escape in an attempt to keep himself hidden from the public's eye, he swallows thickly as he jimmies the latch on the window and hears a satisfying click. He climbs inside with surprising stealth and brushes himself off when he's safely on his feet.

It's nearly pitch black inside but he has a mental map of the flat, one he had drawn up the second he had set foot inside and it isn't hard to navigate his way out of the sitting room where the window opened to the hall where Molly's bedroom is.

He only walks a few steps when his ears pick up the sound of shuffling coming from the opposite end of the flat but he knows it's probably Toby who has proven to be a real night owl, especially when Sherlock was trying to sleep off a new injury on the couch. He's already halfway down the hall when the sound comes again, louder than the last time and he turns around as an unsure feeling settles in his stomach.

Sherlock walks back towards the kitchen as quietly as he can and stops just before peering around the entrance. He's being silly, he tells himself, but blows out a breath and takes a step regardless. The first thing he notices is the lack of an orange tabby weaving his way across the countertops, the second (although he isn't given much time to process it) is the sight of a dark object heading straight for him, and the third is darkness.

Complete, utter darkness.

* * *

"Sherlock? Oh god, Sherlock, please wake up!"

He lets out a moan and feels cool hands cupping his face as he struggles to blink his eyes, lids now suspiciously heavy. There's a pounding in his head as his vision swims and he tries sitting up but as the room spins he has no choice but to lie back down.

It takes a few more minutes before the blurry vision and the spinning stop but once they begin to fade he finds himself staring at a horrified Molly who looks close to tears. He looks up at her with a pained expression.

"Molly? What happened?" his words are slightly slurred and he watches Molly drop her head in her hands.

"Oh Sherlock I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was you and when you turned the corner I panicked and-"

"Molly." He silences her with the sharpness of his tone and a finger to her parted lips, slowly sitting up so they were eye level. "Just tell me what happened please."

He resists the urge to groan in frustration when she bursts into tears but then she points to something on the other side of the room, discarded on the floor and he gawks; first at it, then her.

"You hit me with a frying pan?" he asks, slightly amused and slightly irritated.

She nods shamefully and frowns at the gash on his forehead where the blood was already beginning to congeal. He winces as he probes it with curious fingers before he looks back at her with a smile that makes her feel uneasy. She sits back on the cold tiles and raises a brow at him.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" she asks.

Sherlock chuckles and blinks against the growing headache that was more than likely the aftermath of a concussion.

"I'm just surprised is all."

Molly scoffs, slightly offended. "Surprised? About what?"

"You," he says with a shrug. "I just never pegged you as the kind to attack an intruder in your home, much less with a piece of cookware."

At this Molly grins, obviously pleased that she was able to surprise Sherlock Holmes but the smile fades when she sees him grimace and she slowly helps him to his feet, letting him lean on her for support.

"Alright then, let's get that wound stitched up shall we?"

* * *

By now Molly is more than used to stitching Sherlock Holmes back together. Actually, she's probably a little too used to it.

It takes seven stitches to close the gash above his left brow and when she's done she sheds her gloves and admires her work before she hands Sherlock a glass of water and an aspirin. He takes it gratefully and swallows them both down in a matter of seconds.

Molly sets aside the bowl of red water and perches on the edge of her coffee table so she's sitting in front of Sherlock although he's doing his best to avoid looking at her. She rests her chin in her hands and sighs.

"So, now that you're all patched up, can I ask why you're here?"

At her question Sherlock's head snaps up but he regrets it just as quickly when the dull throbbing intensifies and Molly just shakes her head. In the midst of his injury and finding out Molly Hooper is not as harmless as she appears to be, Sherlock had nearly forgotten _why _he had even stepped foot in the flat to begin with. It sent a rush of excitement and relief through him, ever since he had left the first night he had dreamed of being able to come back and tell Molly it was over.

To be able to rid her of the worry and guilt she felt was something he daydreamt about, knowing he owed her more than anyone would ever think.

Looking up into her doe eyes he lets the corner of his mouth tip up the slightest bit.

"It's done."

At first he can tell she doesn't quite understand what he means, but slowly, ever so slowly, the light in her eyes brightens and the obvious relief that courses through her body is visible. He thinks she's ready to smile back but he's horrified when he sees tears welling in her eyes as she reaches up to frantically wipe them away.

Swallowing thickly he sits up a bit straighter and starts to reach for her but then he stops, hand poised in midair in front of her. Instead he settles for words.

"Have I said something wrong?" he asks in a soft voice, watching her manage the slightest smile at his obvious worry. Much to his relief Molly shakes her head.

"No Sherlock, not at all. It's just; we've waited years for this. I thought I lost you more than once in this whole mess, we've both sacrificed so many things and now…now we can finally breathe again."

"You know this is far from over, don't you Molly? There's still John and the media and-"

His words come to a halt when a finger presses itself against his lips and Molly shakes her head at him, her eyes pleading.

"I can't think about those things right now Sherlock. I've tortured myself with that for months and I can't do that anymore. Do you know how hard it is to wait for someone you love to come home and not know if they're ok or-"

As soon as the words leave her lips Sherlock's eyes widen and Molly's face flushes. Like clockwork she begins stumbling over her words, searching for a way to repair the verbal damage that had just poured from her lips before she could even stop it. Then, with a look almost as helpless as the one he had given her all that time ago, she stops and does the very thing she's wanted to do for nearly a decade.

She kisses him, hard.

Then the realization sets in.

Sherlock can hear her gasp and her body begins to pull away in panic but in a move that surprises both of them he leans in and captures her lips with his once more, bringing her forward with one hand on the back of her neck and deepening the kiss even further.

It was like fire and ice consuming them at once, the taste of coffee and cigarettes settling oddly on each of their tongues as contentment did the same in their stomachs. And when they pull away Sherlock finds himself missing the sensation almost as soon as it disappears.

Glancing up, he sees the bewildered look on Molly's face, the fear flashing in her eyes as if this was a mistake he was going to take back. He silences every one of her doubts with a simple smile and a soft kiss he places on her forehead, his next words muffled against her hair.

"I love you too."


End file.
